Again
by squad51rescue
Summary: Any incidents involving children can be traumatic to EMS personnel. A short story about a seemingly never ending ride involving one of the paramedics.


Again

The slamming of the ambulance door startles him, breaks his concentration for a brief moment, along with the two thumps delivered rapidly to the already vibrating metal, shouting its message, "Go, go, go!"

He swallows hard, focuses again at the young patient lying quietly beneath his slightly trembling hands, one hand lightly circling her wrist, the other splayed gently, carefully, on her stomach counting her respirations. The ambulance attendant sits silently across from him, at her head, waiting, watching, definitely attentive but thankfully mute. Can't remember his name right now, Larry, George, Frank? Yeah, Frank, that's it, capable, calm guy in a crisis. He knows the mother is sitting up front next to the driver, can't hear them over the frantic wail of the siren, the shrill, thumping cacophonic of noise matching the own beating of his heart. His sensitive ears can pick out the distinct wail of the squad following close behind, his partner probably gripping the wheel in white knuckled frustration, maybe they both should have rode in this box of death defying metal, just in case?

A slight motion under his counting hand directs his attention to the young lady currently occupying this gurney of hope. She's very cute, this one, gonna be a heartbreaker when she gets older. Dark brown hair frames her startling white face, her bp is low, too low, signs of shock. The dark eyelashes flutter against the ghostly skin, then, surprisingly, she is gazing at him in puzzlement, her hazel eyes opening wide in wonder.

"Are you an angel?" She questions sincerely, her eyes never leaving his face. He chokes into silence his snort of laughter, but can't help the quick smile that tugs the corners of his mouth up, as he thinks of all the things he has done or thought of doing in his own short life, assuredly not angel material. Across the way he can see Frank, hand clamped over his mouth, shaking in quiet mirth. Ok, so apparently his reputation isn't quite angel like either.

"No, sweetheart, I'm not, I'm a paramedic with the fire department. My name is…." The stock answers, platitudes, roll off his tongue with practiced ease, but this time, especially this time, they are very sincere, and feel like they are being yanked from deep within him, word by word, stretching, pulling, his emotions out like a saltwater taffy machine….

"What's your name?" He finally manages, smiling to allay her fears, but probably more so for his own fears, which hover at the surface, trying to break free.

"Angel. I'm five, no six, today's my birthday!" Her breathless exclamation, proudly delivered, explodes his tenuous smile into a huge grin, a ray of hope breaking through that grim layer of fear.

"Well, then, Happy Birthday!" He stops himself from asking if she got the present she wanted, the evidence of it is probably still lying back there in the street, the mangled, gleaming new handlebars bent and twisted, the petals still turning….

Her smile is beautiful, sweet innocence combined with a little bit of cheekiness, probably gives her parents a run for their money, he muses, watching her carefully, hopefully. He explodes into instant action when the pulse under his still encircling hand, flutters erratically and falters, and her eyes, which were just regarding him with amusement and wonder, roll back….

All of the training, studying, testing slams through his suddenly sharp mind, spurring him into controlled, but furious movements. Grab the paddles, gel, charge, consider her body weight and her age, pull the blanket down, rip the shirt open, sorry sweetie hope it wasn't a favorite, shock….wait, impatiently; there it is on that tiny monitor, the rhythm of life bouncing again.

He sighs, carefully pulls together her shirt and tucks the blanket around her, before rocking back. Piggybacks another bag of fluid into her, per the instructions squawking from the orange box at his feet, injects another needle of drugs into her IV port, checks, adjusts, all the things he is here to do. Recheck the vitals, probable internal injury in addition to the broken arm and mild concussion, mild only because of the shiny, cracked bike helmet laying by her feet, a wonderful birthday present, to be sure.

He finally takes the time to impatiently wipe at the sweat that is running into his eyes, the saltiness is stinging and burning. He sucks in his lip, tasting the coppery liquid gathering there, must have bit it, probably more than once. He glances over at Frank, who has resumed his seat, head slightly bowed and hands clasped loosely between his legs. He remembers him helping, asking him if they should pull over, "negative, no time, especially with the mother on board," handing him things, but it all blurs together, but they did their job, and did it well, as plainly evidenced by the angel resting in front of them. A lot of their calls are bad, horrible even, but any involving children, well, he hates them, knows his partner does too. Some turn out well, but some, well, it's hard, almost impossible, to finish the shift and not go home and drown yourself in a bottle of something toxic.

And then, suddenly, a feeling overwhelms him, building inside and explodes outside in a sharp intake of breath, a gasp of realization as sudden truth and absolute sureness floods over him. This child, this beautiful angel, is going to live to see another day, dance at her prom, walk down the aisle on the arm of her father. That group of dedicated, human flesh entombed willingly inside that cold, cement building known as Rampart, are going to finish the job that he started and tomorrow this girl, this newly six year old, is going to be sitting up in her bed demanding real food.

He raises his head slowly to the heavens and smiles. As if in reply, a small hand reaches for his and slowly, comfortingly, squeezes his in positive agreement.

Softly he whispers, "Happy Birthday Angel….Again."

* * *

><p>So, this story began from an unwitting challenge from my young teenager who asked me to write a story concerning my favorite character on E!, and how he would celebrate his birthday. I thought about it for about 30 seconds and dismissed it, as I was very keen on finishing a chapter in my ongoing story, posted on here, as that story has taken an 180 degree turn from my original vision of it . So at 3 this morning, I suddenly woke up with this birthday story idea flying through my sleep deprived brain. Stumbling into the dark kitchen for a drink, I managed to stomp firmly on 120 pounds of snoozing German Shepherd, scaring the bejewels out of both of us. Trying to go back to sleep proved impossible, so decided to give in to my muse and write, write, write! Unfortunately, the twin to my previously mentioned teenager was sleeping away on the couch, instead of in his own bed, so I ended up in the garage at the now hour of 4:00 am writing this short story. And, yes, today is my birthday, so this is a present to myself,thanks to a slightly changed challenge from my son! Hope you enjoyed!<p> 


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